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At the dawning of the world, before there was any dawn to speak of, a god was born.
He was of the earth, and the earth was of him; they were one and the same, the earth and its god, though he walked upon its surface in the manner of man. When the two became separate, no one could say—perhaps it was always so. What mattered was that he was in all things its spirit, feeling what it felt, knowing what it knew. And all it knew in the beginning was darkness, and solitude, and cold.
But he was not alone forever. For eventually a light shone out of the darkness, and another god was born. He was everything the earth-god was not: small where the earth-god was large, loud where the earth-god was quiet, restless where the earth-god was still. They were opposites in nearly every way.
Perhaps that is why the first sunrise was so very beautiful.
With every passing second, light and warmth flooded the barren land, and eventually, life began to grow. It did not happen all at once, but happen it did, and with it came all manner of new gods into existence, from the sky to the sea, the forest to the plains, and the flora to the fauna. Trees sprouted from the once-bare ground, snow fell onto the dry mountain peaks, and fish swam in the oceans. It was wondrous, and for the first time, the sun-god and the earth-god saw each other in the midst of their shared creation.
It is no small mystery, then, that the god of the sun and the god of the earth fell in love.
“Tell me,” said the sun-god one day, “why is it that you seldom speak to me? I spend my days searching the land for you, and so rarely succeed; is it something I have done? Something I have said? Say the word, and I shall do everything in my power to fix it, for I have no wish to be thus divided.”
But the earth-god could not tell him the real answer: that he did not avoid him out of offense or fear, but because the sun-god’s radiance was too much for him to bear without surrendering himself to it completely. He was everything the earth-god was not, and the earth-god saw this, and was at once disheartened and amazed; disheartened, for the earth-god felt as though he failed his subjects for not being able to provide everything they needed himself, and amazed, for he greatly regarded the power the sun-god had to nourish life, and saw boundless strength and beauty in the sun-god’s every aspect. “You have caused me no offense, but I have simply found myself busy,” replied the earth-god instead, one half a truth and the other a lie.
“That is good, then,” said the sun-god with renewed vigor, a smile crossing his face. “For I wish to see more of you than I do, and if I can help with your tasks, I will; you do not have to do them alone, after all, and two of us can surely make quicker work than one.”
The earth-god was surprised by this turn of events, but not at all displeased, if a little anxious—as not even the gods are immune to stress. So he brought the sun-god with him as he traveled the surface of the earth, watching the life that flourished there to ensure that everything was in order, coaxing the occasional flower to grow or bird to fly, listening to the sun-god talk all the while about anything he could think of to say. They spent a long time indeed cultivating the world, observing as humankind took its first fledgling steps and giving it nudges along the way, and creating too those spaces that only gods can find and enjoy, where some small piece of nature is hidden away from the rest of the world.
They settled down eventually from their task, and the earth-god found that not only did he not mind the sun-god’s constant presence, but that he could not imagine returning to his duties alone. And so he decided one day to bring the sun-god to his favorite hidden place upon the earth, nestled atop a great mountain, from which the sunrise could be seen more beautifully than anywhere else.
“I must confess I was not entirely truthful with you,” the earth-god said in the quiet minutes of darkness before the sun came over the horizon. “I had been avoiding you, but I did not lie when I said you had done nothing wrong. It was because— because I did not know what you would think of me, when I have not half the power that you do, and I feared that I might fall if you came too close, and would be forever lost.” When the sun-god did not reply right away, keeping his curious gaze focused on the earth-god’s face, he continued more quietly, apprehensive of his words. “And it seems I was right to be afraid, because I have done just that—I have fallen in love with you, hopelessly so. I know I do not have much to offer, and—”
“You are a ridiculous being, you know that?” the sun-god interrupted, with nothing but levity in his voice. “If you did not know that I was already halfway madly in love when I came down to meet you that day, then surely you must know how I feel now.” The earth-god felt heat rise to his face, and when he looked into the sun-god’s eyes, he saw the unbridled passion of his words reflected there as he continued to speak. “To say you do not have half the power I do—ha! It is your earth that I bring light to, without which foundation no life could grow. What would my purpose be with nothing to shine upon? What value would I provide? You are the source of all that flourishes here, and it is by your hand that it all continues to thrive. You are far stronger than it appears you believe, and it is that strength and stability that I admire most.”
“But—everything about you is radiant and beautiful, and I am—”
“—doubly so. Tell me, do you think I would fall in love with someone I did not find incomparably magnificent?” the sun-god asked, mirth twinkling in his gaze. “Whether or not you believe these things for yourself, know that I mean them with all the force of my heart. And I will spend the rest of eternity telling you as much, until you see the truth behind my words.”
“You would do that?” the earth-god replied, half in wonder and half in disbelief.
“For you, my love? Anything.”
And as the sun rose, casting a fiery glow across the world below, the sun-god and the earth-god shared their first sweet, steadfast kiss.
The sunset that evening bathed them in a warm, golden light as they remained at the mountain’s peak, casting shadows across the land from the valley behind which it sank. It was only the first of many days together, during which their love blossomed from its slight beginnings into an all-encompassing flame.
But, like all things, even gods can die.
Their spirits, however, do not.
They are reincarnated once, twice, a thousand times over, living mortal lives on the mortal earth they watched the very birth of, knowing nothing of their pasts and yet never losing who they are. One lifetime passes, then the next, and the next, with no guarantees of finding each other or the love they held so tightly onto. But nevertheless, something within them urges them to try, some force pulling them together like a magnetic field, born out of passion rather than any electric current. And sometimes, they succeed.
In a high school gym in Miyagi Prefecture, Azumane Asahi and Nishinoya Yuu meet for the first time, and the sun shines down on Karasuno once again.
Yes, the whispered rumors are true: Karasuno is a mere shadow of the powerhouse it once was years ago. But as the world has proven time and again, even those in the shadows can step into the light. Five new crows join the wearied flock, and in that moment, they all feel the promise of something greater, something that has been and could be again. A chance, perhaps; if not now, then soon. Within their grasp. And when it comes, they will not hesitate to reach out and take it.
So they train, and train, and train, and as time goes on, their team becomes sharper, faster, stronger than ever. They are still not there—not yet—but they can feel themselves climbing to the summit. The year passes in sweat and tears, and when four bright new freshmen step into the gym the following April, they think, This is it.
With this, we can fly even higher.
They’re right, of course. Karasuno once more finds its place in the sun, and at times, they almost forget they ever lost it. It inspires them to push even harder, to seek heights that before were only reflections of a dream.
That fire finds Asahi and Noya practicing hours longer than necessary, serving and receiving until the sun is setting low in the sky. Asahi wipes the sweat from his brow and retrieves another ball, having long ago lost count of how many times he’s tried this jump serve in particular. Noya, as always, seems completely unfazed, although his chest is heaving and his hair is visibly damp.
“One more,” he calls across the court, and Asahi grins, readying himself for his run-up. He tosses the ball into the air, takes five—no, six—steps and throws himself into the air, feeling his palm hit the ball with a satisfying smack, sending it right where he wants it to go. Perfect.
And, of course, Noya is already there, eager to test himself against Asahi’s full power, pushing himself to the limit and bringing Asahi there with him.
The ball sails cleanly off his forearms in the arc of a perfect receive.
“You would do that?”
He smiles, and it is like the sun.
“For you, my love? Anything.”